Mercedes Blue
by xCrazyxCarxRadiox
Summary: He'll take me and crush me, like he did long ago to a blue Mercedes I used to know… and I might just be crazy enough to let him.
1. Prologue

This little plotline has been eating away at me for a while now, and to be honest I just had to start it. :D Not sure if it'll go anywhere, that's all up to you readers, butttttttttt I hope you enjoy it.

*set at the beginning of The Dark Knight

*I'll be mainly taking from Heath Ledger's Joker for my writing, so I hope I do him justice. The man had a bright future in front of him; his acting in The Dark Knight was truly brilliant.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker, the Dark Knight, or any of the Batman franchise. I own my main character Sera, and a select few OC characters that go along with her.

All that being said, thank you all for making it through this Author's Note. I hope you enjoy the story.

* * *

Mercedes Blue: Prologue

It's been a long day.

In retrospect, it shouldn't have seemed as long as it did. I stayed at home more than usual so shouldn't I feel rested, relaxed? Instead, I'm jittery. My fingers tap anxiously at the steering wheel as I wait for the light to turn green. I can feel my head aching from a headache that's been haunting me for the last three hours.

Couldn't Alex have waited a few more weeks to call in that favor? Today was the first day off I've had in a month, and I had planned to spend it mellowing out. Instead, I was called in at nine a.m. after being reminded of 'that one time' when he had done the same for me.

I release a long, frustrated sigh and take my foot off the brake. The guy in front of me is so freaking slow. The light will turn red again before we're actually moving. Can't he see that the speed limit is thirty-five? Asshole.

I would tap my horn, but my car is already too loud. The volume of my stereo probably sounds like a jet engine to the streetwalkers outside. I turn it off quickly, and groan. Note to self – no fast movements.

It should be illegal to drive with a migraine. It's like driving tired, angry, and drunk all at once. I can't wait to get home, throw in a bath bomb, and spend my night singing with Shania Twain. My eyes drift to the paycheck on my dashboard.

One more stop, then I'm home free. "Speed the hell up, would you?" I mutter to the brand new blue Mercedes in front of me.

The guy driving it is probably some middle aged business man that owns a second, illegal business behind closed doors. His wife probably knows about it, just like she knows where he goes off at midnight on Wednesdays, and Fridays, but she never says anything about it. She probably doesn't want to upset their kids. In my mind, there's three, and one of them has a serious case of teenage angst. Plot twist, she knows.

"I should have left the radio on." I groan, trying to shake myself out of my thoughts. Like clockwork, my phone rings. I check the caller ID – it's Sean. He's not a close friend, but we work together. "Hello?"

" _Hey Sera!"_

"What's up?"

" _Alex wants to know if you're coming over for dinner. He ordered takeout,"_ he paused, and I assume he's listening to the voice shrieking in the background, _"Liz wants me to tell you that you like them."_ I roll my eyes. Alex and Liz are the self-elected 'fun' experts in our group. They're responsible for out of work get-togethers.

I make a right turn and drive up to the next red light. I'm stranded behind three cars, "I'll be over in a few. I have to run by the bank first, but it shouldn't take long." The building towers above my car, imposing as all hell, and the sight chills me a little. I shake it off as an after effect of a day too long. I need to unwind, it's a good thing Alex-

" _What, are you crazy? You can't go to the bank right now."_

I snort, my eyes scanning the parking lot. I haven't turned into it yet, but I feel like I should browse. Surprisingly, the lot isn't busy. I would normally have to fight with the Mercedes for a spot, but it shouldn't be an issue today. Things are looking up, "Why not?"

" _Where are you – holy shit Sera, please tell me you aren't there!"_ Sean sounds worried, and that scares me. I feel the hairs on my arms raise as faraway police sirens sound in my ears. I had just turned into the parking lot.

"So what if I am? Sean what the actual-"

SLAM. A bright yellow school bus pulls out in front of me, tea boning the blue Mercedes in the process. The little car looked like a toy as it skidded into the back of two cars two rows away.

The bus keeps going, and slams into its side again. With nowhere to go the car's side crumbles in on itself. I can almost hear it shift out of reverse and the driver nail the gas to turn… but that's in my head.

In reality, my hand is pressed down on my car horn, and it has been ever since the first slam. I remove it, but there's a ringing in my ears that won't go away anytime soon.

I shake as I open my car door, I can hear Sean yelling my name in the phone, but it sounds like an echo of a whisper. I run to the Mercedes. There's smoke everywhere.

I can barely see through the window, but I can make out a woman's figure. Her long hair, her trench coat, her child screaming bloody murder. I grip the door handle and pull, but it doesn't budge. I pull harder, and harder, and harder until my hands are red and my muscles ache.

Police sirens are loud in my ears, and I'm screaming, because all I can think is that I can barely breathe and she's inside the car and there's a baby in the backseat and oh God…

She's dead isn't she?

When the professionals arrive on scene, the baby isn't crying anymore. They swaddle me in blankets and carry me off on a stretcher, as though I was a part of this… this atrocity.

I see them wrench the doors open, carefully take Mercedes Blue out and put her on a stretcher. They cover her with a white sheet. They cover the baby as well.

… The fun thing about creating stories about strangers, is most of the time I never have the chance to learn that I'm wrong. Most of the time, I get to wallow in my ignorance.

Not this time.

* * *

Four hours in the hospital pass slowly. I'm told I'll be spending the night to give the shock a chance to wear off. I'm not in shock – I wish I was. Then, I wouldn't feel so gut wrenchingly depressed.

Liz hasn't let go of my hand once in the two hours since my co-workers arrived. It's embarrassing really. I wasn't even in the car that was destroyed, but it didn't stop them all from hauling ass across town to see me.

That poor woman… she did nothing wrong. Mercedes Blue was one of eight people murdered when the bank was robbed.

What could have possessed the bus driver to slam into her so violently? He could have easily turned and escaped after the first collision. He had enough space. No, the second time, he hit her just for the fun of it.

I remember a flash of long, wiry green hair as he moved deliberately through my vision to crush the Mercedes. He's probably some teenage kid with nothing going for him. He was probably spoiled rotten as a child, had horseshit grades, zero talent to speak of. I'm willing to bet that he dyed his hair green for attention, like he didn't get enough of it. Everyone makes time for the bus driver. In my head, he has an attitude problem as well – he's cocky and cruel, upsettingly so.

He's just a kid, no complexity to his story what-so-ever. He'll be arrested by tomorrow morning and spend his life in jail for two counts of murder and one of theft.

I had no idea how wrong I was.

I wish I had never gotten the chance to figure it out.


	2. Sera

Chapter 1: Sera

 _Through dangers untold. And hardships unnumbered. I have fought my way here to the castle; beyond the goblin city, to take back the child that you have stolen. My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. You have no power over me._

-Sara Williams, Labyrinth

* * *

My apron is loose today. I've adjusted the strings three times already, and they just seem to slip when I'm not looking.

I tug them into a tight knot as I walk to the till. An older man stands, waiting, as I do. I smile, "What can I get for you today?"

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he returns my smile, "Just a small cappuccino."

"Wet or dry sir?"

"Dry, and soy milk please."

I love easy customers. I had a woman throw a Frappuccino in my face at 10 o'clock. "Alrighty, we'll have that right out for you. It'll be 3.79."

The man frowns sheepishly, "Actually," Damn it. Here we go. "Can I get that without foam? I don't like the consistency."

I feel the smile on my face dwindling, and force another. "I'll add it as a note sir." I quickly cancel his order and put it in under 'Café Latte'. Normally, I would take the time to explain that the only difference in the latte's and cappuccinos at "Slate" is that the later contains foam, but not today.

It's my first day back on the job and I can still smell the smoke rolling off of a pretty blue Mercedes.

The cost has jumped nearly a dollar, but I take his offered 3.79 with a quiet 'thanks'. I'm fairly certain that he's Tiffany's grandfather, and I'm in a giving mood. I slip a dollar out of my pocket and into the till after he's walked away. I'll likely be counting down the till tonight, so the 12-20 cent overhang won't surprise me.

Tiffany's already finished making his drink, and she lets me know she's going on break as she makes her way over to him. She's young – 16 or 17, but she's a good employee. She's taken her hair down, and as she leans onto her hand and creates a curtain of blond concealing her face, I'm reminded of a face smashed into the airbag, her shoulders hunched as her long hair blocked her from my view.

I breathe deeply and nestle my arm into my face. Liz is on till so I'm happy to lose my shit out of the public's prying eyes. The smoke had been so think that I can't even recall the color of her hair. I'm not sure I ever saw it. And as I gagged and sputtered, that same smoke had smothered her child.

Right in front of me; this is the kind of shit that made me quit the police force.

My apron feels unearthly loose and I tug my ribbon tie apart to shove it on tighter as I make my way into the back. I grab my purse and head to a small mirror attached to our wall. The owner's put it up so the girls can 'make themselves presentable' in relative privacy.

For me, it's a way to put my pieces back together. I struggle out of my ponytail and brush the tangles from my hair. And as I make contact with the green eyes in the mirror, I can't help but wonder what could have happened to the bus driver whose hair had been a disturbingly similar shade. It's been three days with no news; I could have found him in two.

Fuck.

I close my eyes, take three deep breaths, and open them again. I take out my contour kit, primp and pull. This is who I am now. I'm green eyes and a button nose and a cute smile for old men demanding coffee. Not the wide eyed college graduate who specialized in finding anyone and everyone.

I'm brunette locks and long legs, a flat tummy that had been chubby until I'd had to face the real world and couldn't stomach it.

"Hey, you okay Sera?" Lizzy asks.

"I'm just fine." I shouldn't even be thinking like this.

The rest of the day flies by. The customer's come in steadily, but not enough to be busy. When we close at 8:30, we're finished up with our closing list. There's a nagging tug in my gut as I drive home. Maybe I should snoop around the internet for the green haired brat – just to make sure his ass is in jail.

I pull into the driveway, locking the door on my way into the house, and head into the kitchen for a midnight snack. I'm halfway through my second serving of Greek yogurt when I hear the tiniest squeak of floorboards; I tense.

"You should get a better lock."

Thank every god out there. "You scared the hell out of me Wayne!" I turn around and face him. Bruce Wayne, the classic billionaire playboy. Isn't it funny, that he stands in my house at 9 o'clock rather than some other floozy?

"That's not exactly difficult Parker." He mutters, but he's checking the windows and shutting the curtains, "You should invest in something higher grade."

I snort, "You say that every time you come over. I don't know why you have such a squirrel up your ass about it." He rolls his eyes, apparently deciding no comment of his own is needed. I trail behind him as he trudges up my stairs, "Did you at least lock it behind you?"

"Sweetheart I've been here for three hours. You locked it behind you." Wayne finally answers, "A bird told me you were at the bank shooting; how'd that go?" we've reached my bedroom he holds the door open for me. Like a proper gentleman mind you.

What a laugh.

He sees my expression, "If you don't want to talk about it, then just do me a favor. Go back to the scene. 'He' can talk to Gordan and get you a visitor's-"

"That's not what we agreed to Wayne," I mutter, grabbing his face, "No more talking."

* * *

I wake up later than I usually might. Wayne forgot to open my curtains on his way out. He did, however, leave a note on my bedside table.

 _I need you to go back. Meet me tomorrow for brunch. – W_

I don't do brunch.

"Great."

I'm not even completely sure what time classifies as brunch, but it's 10:37 and I need a shower before I deal with whatever headache Wayne normally wouldn't want to drag me into.

I've just begun eating a bowl of breakfast cereal when he shows up with coffee and bagels from _"Alice's Bakery"_. I eye him wearily as he sets the bag of goodies down on the table and holds a coffee in front of my face.

"Is that a cherry almond latte?"  
"A double almond cherry actually."

I take it with greedy hands. Something like this must have cost him at least six bucks; not much out of his trust fund, but it's something I can't afford to have every day. It's a 24 Oz too. Written on the side were the words 'Do it for the coffee babe' "Nice try Wayne. You're very subtle."

"Did it work?"

I stare flatly. For a genius, he sure is dense. "What do you think?"

"I think you need to be persuaded." He tells me as he sits in front of me and smooths the wrinkles in the brown paper bag on the table. I have an underlying suspicion that there isn't just bagels – but there better be some- in that large bag.

"Oh yeah. How exactly were you planning on 'persuading' me?"

"Close your eyes." He quickly replies. He leans forward on his arms, and I decide to humor him just this once. For whatever may have come out of _Alice's Bakery_ of course. Wayne is the most handsome, well off bedside buddy I've ever had – but that's all he is.

And he has good taste in caffeinated beverages.

"I want you to imagine what you'll find when you open this bag." He takes my hand using it to run my fingers down the side of said object. I have to force myself not to smile. "I asked Alice to put it together with you in mind. What could our mutual friend have hidden for you?"

Oh that bastard. "I hate you." I say grinning, "Do you even know what's in here?"

"Of course I do." Liar. "The better question is, do you?" I open my eyes and see him staring lovingly at the bag, using my hand to poke and prod at the warmth giving it shape.

This time I can't hold back a quiet laugh. "Bagels for starters. Maybe a caramel roll. The bag isn't big enough for much else."

"This is only one bag. The rest are in the car."

Suddenly, I'm forced to take this game more seriously, "Croissants? Apple tarts?"

"Think bigger."

"I am," I groan and he laughs at me. Which isn't uncommon; I'm aware that I have an unusual fascination with pastries. "Muffins, cupcakes, Cinnamon Rolls?"

He holds my hand between his, "Only one way to find out."  
"By going back to the bank?"

"That's one option… but I could always eat whatever I find in these bags. And not share." He eyes my forgotten bowl of Wheaties, "It looks like you were really enjoying your breakfast without me."

I release another groan and he continues to laugh at my misery, "I hate you."

"That's the second time you've said that since I got here." I'm aware. "Something tells me that it isn't true."

Again, I'm aware. Really what woman in her right mind could hate a man who custom ordered a goodie bag from her favorite bakery, paid seven dollars for coffee, and showed up at her doorstep with big brown eyes and a smile.

I look at him, really look at him, for the first time since he got here. On the outside, he's a tall, handsome man in a maroon polo shirt. The kind of guy that wiggles a finger and hints at a smile, and off go the panties of the general population. Hell, I'm no better than any of them.

But there's something about how his smile isn't all there, and his eyes are a little older than they usually might be. "What's going on Bruce?"

"Take this," he says, opening the bag and holding out a bagel.  
"Why?"  
"Because you're curious. And because if you don't, the police won't find the Joker." He's more serious now than I've seen him in a long time.

The Joker? I've heard that name somewhere. I try to tunnel back, away from the card references that first come to mind in favor of something more useful. I can't say that I found anything.

"Have you been hiding out in that coffee shop with ear muffs on?" Wayne asks incredulously, "Sera he's been plaguing Gotham for months. Until now, it's been little things. We thought he was a small player, but the bank heist is just the beginning. I can feel it."

I take the bagel from his waiting hands and, together, we demolish the bag and he hands over three others –and another double almond latte- from his car.

I'm not ashamed to say that I googled the Joker as soon as Wayne's heels left my patio. There wasn't much to be found at first, but if I've learned anything, it's that there's always a trail to follow. Especially, after I've booted up the Deep Web.

At three in the morning I find a gore chat room with his name written all over it. It's filled with horrible photos of men shredded with knives, and women raped by his goons. I look for as long as I can, so that tomorrow my resolve won't fail. I'll go to the bank and do my damndest to find a trail.

" _Anonymous370 is a little quiet; got anything good to put on the table?"_

 _I close my eyes and swallow hard, "Not really. It's my first time finding this page. I'm just browsing." I typed the answer slowly, revising as I saw fit._

" _Everyone starts somewhere. This one's for you Sera."_

 _An image pops up, of a woman with long hair…_

I wake with a start, tumbling out of my chair and backing away until my head smacks into the foot of my bed. My computer's been ignored for so long that it's in sleep mode, and the glow of the monitor shocks me out of my utter terror.

I close my eyes and listen until my ears hurt, my heart beats so loudly an assailant would have to shoot a gun beside my ear just for the sound to register.

Later, when I'm safe in bed with the doors locked, windows checked, and the curtains pulled, I dare to think of him again.

"What the hell kind of a name is 'the Joker' anyway?"


End file.
